You know it's been way too long since your last blog post when you can't exactly remember your password to get into your account.
Obviously, I remembered it.
Summer has turned to fall.
One month (plus). Oops. Things around here have been hopping. We finished up soccer season. The Diamond Back Sneaky Snakes (aka known as "Go Red!"- because, honestly, the other team has scored a point by the time you get "Go, Diamond Back Sneaky Snakes!" out of your mouth) won the league championships.
I had my chemo port removed.
Grandma and Papa came and went, we've been to their house and back and I spent 4 nights in Atlanta, Ga for work while Steve held down the fort. I heard they may have gone out to eat a *few* times.
All is well here. We are gearing up for Trick or Treat in a few days and I have 2 Ninjas and an Albert Einstein. Pictures to follow later in the week.
Sunday, October 27, 2013
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Clowns scare me
Quinn had his six week post-op appointment at Cincinnati Children's Hospital. There is a smaller satellite campus that is only about 40 minutes from our house (opposed to the one hour + main campus.) Its a really nice little hospital.
This is the appointment where the surgeon gives Quinn the all clear to start up his normal activities like soccer... (oops, he's been playing since 2 weeks after surgery) and swimming (didn't even last a week after surgery for that one) and a removal from his meds (which he was caught pouring down the drain 3 weeks ago.) So pretty much, this appointment was more to reveal how bad I stink at this whole care giver/parenting thing. AS IF I need another reminder.
Our appointment was at 10:15. So after dropping the other two off at school we busted our tails down to the hospital to check in *15 minutes before the scheduled appointment.* The paper work said we were suppose to. And I follow the rules.
Quinn was really happy to watch Doc McStuffins and meet Ronald McDonald, who apparently does rounds at the Children's Hospital. Clever Mickey D's! Guess who got badgered into buying a Happy Meal after our visit? Yep, this mom, that's who.
We stepped back into our examination room 20 minutes after our scheduled appointment time. 45 minutes after THAT I finally poked my head out the door to find out how much longer they thought it would be. "Oh, we have not forgotten about you. The doctor is running a bit behind." Oh, DO YOU THINK??!! 15 Minutes after THAT another nurse popped her head in to tell us that she was really sorry and that we *should be* next. Either we are or we are not. I managed not to get huffy, but I did ask if there was any way we could get a book or a game or SOMETHING. (You can only do so much thumb wrestling before your hand goes numb.)
Seriously, there was a dang circus (literally! There was a clown for goodness sakes) going on 30 feet from where we are sitting with the door closed for over an hour, but inside our room- not a book, not a game, not a TV... nothing. My blood started to boil. Not necessarily because we were waiting for so long (seriously, Quinn was not in a rush to get his school day going and I had cleared my schedule) but it was more the principle of the thing. I busted my buns to be there early, we waited patiently, I paid a $50 co-pay. The least they could have done was let us know on the front end we would be waiting. Or had us sit in the lobby. Or allowed us to get a snack. Or let me ram my head into a brick wall. Whatever.
Then, I found out the doctor was held up because of a procedure and it dawned on me. There was a kid down the hall, scared, in pain, parents potentially afraid and here I am whining about ME. Ugh. I prayed for the child, his/her family. People I won't ever meet. My selfishness can drag me down sometimes.
An hour and a half later (after a 5 minute visit with the surgeon) we were sent on our happy way. All is well. Surgery was a success. Quinn is healthy, beautiful and has a bright future in orthodontics ahead of him. We are one Happy Meal toy richer and an hour and a half poorer. But a trip to Children's Hospital always reminds you, it could be worse, so be thankful for what you have!
This is the appointment where the surgeon gives Quinn the all clear to start up his normal activities like soccer... (oops, he's been playing since 2 weeks after surgery) and swimming (didn't even last a week after surgery for that one) and a removal from his meds (which he was caught pouring down the drain 3 weeks ago.) So pretty much, this appointment was more to reveal how bad I stink at this whole care giver/parenting thing. AS IF I need another reminder.
Our appointment was at 10:15. So after dropping the other two off at school we busted our tails down to the hospital to check in *15 minutes before the scheduled appointment.* The paper work said we were suppose to. And I follow the rules.
Quinn was really happy to watch Doc McStuffins and meet Ronald McDonald, who apparently does rounds at the Children's Hospital. Clever Mickey D's! Guess who got badgered into buying a Happy Meal after our visit? Yep, this mom, that's who.
We stepped back into our examination room 20 minutes after our scheduled appointment time. 45 minutes after THAT I finally poked my head out the door to find out how much longer they thought it would be. "Oh, we have not forgotten about you. The doctor is running a bit behind." Oh, DO YOU THINK??!! 15 Minutes after THAT another nurse popped her head in to tell us that she was really sorry and that we *should be* next. Either we are or we are not. I managed not to get huffy, but I did ask if there was any way we could get a book or a game or SOMETHING. (You can only do so much thumb wrestling before your hand goes numb.)
Seriously, there was a dang circus (literally! There was a clown for goodness sakes) going on 30 feet from where we are sitting with the door closed for over an hour, but inside our room- not a book, not a game, not a TV... nothing. My blood started to boil. Not necessarily because we were waiting for so long (seriously, Quinn was not in a rush to get his school day going and I had cleared my schedule) but it was more the principle of the thing. I busted my buns to be there early, we waited patiently, I paid a $50 co-pay. The least they could have done was let us know on the front end we would be waiting. Or had us sit in the lobby. Or allowed us to get a snack. Or let me ram my head into a brick wall. Whatever.
Then, I found out the doctor was held up because of a procedure and it dawned on me. There was a kid down the hall, scared, in pain, parents potentially afraid and here I am whining about ME. Ugh. I prayed for the child, his/her family. People I won't ever meet. My selfishness can drag me down sometimes.
An hour and a half later (after a 5 minute visit with the surgeon) we were sent on our happy way. All is well. Surgery was a success. Quinn is healthy, beautiful and has a bright future in orthodontics ahead of him. We are one Happy Meal toy richer and an hour and a half poorer. But a trip to Children's Hospital always reminds you, it could be worse, so be thankful for what you have!
Saturday, September 14, 2013
Good for the soul
It was a sweltering week here. I loved every sweat-dripping-down-the-middle-of-my-back-moment. I'm trying to soak it up, because before I know it, I'm going to have a chill in my bones that I won't be able to shake until May.
We are enjoying a leisurely Saturday morning at home. It is a rare occasion. Really rare. At 11:15 we begin the craziness, though. Drop Turner at a friend's house for a play date, arrive at soccer field for Olivia's noon game, chase down Quinn's buddy who is also hanging around the field for his brother's game. Make sure the two of them don't beat each other while trying to NOT make a fool out of myself while cheering for the Sneaky Snakes. Easy Peasy.
We are still recovering from last weekend's three ring circus. Maybe even a four ringer, since my aunt and uncle (from Arizona) were in town. We get to see them about twice a year, although we went a really long year and half stretch before seeing them last weekend. So, naturally, we had to cram their visit full of our madness. Soccer games, festivals, food truck rally, Buckeye game, laughing, crying, snuggling etc. It was a magical weekend.
A particular highlight for me was late Saturday afternoon. After all the crazy running around and fun having that we did Friday night and Saturday morning, my Aunt, Olivia and I spent time snuggling on the couch talking. We spent nearly an hour telling Olivia stories about when I was little and when my aunt and my mom were little. It was so special. O was so dialed in and hanging on my aunt's words. They are stories we don't discuss often enough. With my mom passing when Olivia was three and a half, she has vague memories of Bebe but it is so important to me that she gets to know her through stories.
It also unleashed a part of me that I rarely realize needs unleashing. Being an only child and having both parents gone, there is NO ONE to talk childhood with. I know that having siblings does not guarantee reminiscing. Siblings to not guarantee laughs, tears or history sharing. I imagine they would, at least, provide a sense of connection to a part of life that perhaps no one else knows. I could be wrong. But I don't not have that. If I stop long enough and dwell hard enough, it could be a very lonely, very sad place. So I don't stop there.
However, on the rare occasion of visiting with my aunt, I find that piece of history that I need accessed. Places in my mind and heart I have not gone in years. My grandmother's candy dish, her freezer full of ice cream sandwiches, my mom's sense of humor, her homemade mac 'n cheese, what she was like before her illnesses and her amputation. Family. History. Me.
My heart was beyond full as we three generations sat on the couch. A mixed kind of fullness- full of joy for a visit from my mom's sister- an extension of my mother's love, full of gratefulness as she loved me and my daughter and gave of her time, love and stories, full of sadness and grief as I would give anything to have my mom snuggled next to the three of us giving her version of the stories. Full of family and love and emotion, full of openness to those things that I sometimes find myself closing off to in order to avoid, in order to *move on*, in order to live.
Full. Its a good place to be.
We are enjoying a leisurely Saturday morning at home. It is a rare occasion. Really rare. At 11:15 we begin the craziness, though. Drop Turner at a friend's house for a play date, arrive at soccer field for Olivia's noon game, chase down Quinn's buddy who is also hanging around the field for his brother's game. Make sure the two of them don't beat each other while trying to NOT make a fool out of myself while cheering for the Sneaky Snakes. Easy Peasy.
We are still recovering from last weekend's three ring circus. Maybe even a four ringer, since my aunt and uncle (from Arizona) were in town. We get to see them about twice a year, although we went a really long year and half stretch before seeing them last weekend. So, naturally, we had to cram their visit full of our madness. Soccer games, festivals, food truck rally, Buckeye game, laughing, crying, snuggling etc. It was a magical weekend.
A particular highlight for me was late Saturday afternoon. After all the crazy running around and fun having that we did Friday night and Saturday morning, my Aunt, Olivia and I spent time snuggling on the couch talking. We spent nearly an hour telling Olivia stories about when I was little and when my aunt and my mom were little. It was so special. O was so dialed in and hanging on my aunt's words. They are stories we don't discuss often enough. With my mom passing when Olivia was three and a half, she has vague memories of Bebe but it is so important to me that she gets to know her through stories.
It also unleashed a part of me that I rarely realize needs unleashing. Being an only child and having both parents gone, there is NO ONE to talk childhood with. I know that having siblings does not guarantee reminiscing. Siblings to not guarantee laughs, tears or history sharing. I imagine they would, at least, provide a sense of connection to a part of life that perhaps no one else knows. I could be wrong. But I don't not have that. If I stop long enough and dwell hard enough, it could be a very lonely, very sad place. So I don't stop there.
However, on the rare occasion of visiting with my aunt, I find that piece of history that I need accessed. Places in my mind and heart I have not gone in years. My grandmother's candy dish, her freezer full of ice cream sandwiches, my mom's sense of humor, her homemade mac 'n cheese, what she was like before her illnesses and her amputation. Family. History. Me.
My heart was beyond full as we three generations sat on the couch. A mixed kind of fullness- full of joy for a visit from my mom's sister- an extension of my mother's love, full of gratefulness as she loved me and my daughter and gave of her time, love and stories, full of sadness and grief as I would give anything to have my mom snuggled next to the three of us giving her version of the stories. Full of family and love and emotion, full of openness to those things that I sometimes find myself closing off to in order to avoid, in order to *move on*, in order to live.
Full. Its a good place to be.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
Save the Whoo-Haas
Is it really September 3rd already? We had a great Labor Day weekend around here. It was filled with lots of swimming and outdoor fun. It was super hot and muggy which made for a great way to *close out* summer. I find Labor Day to be a bit of a depressing holiday. Mostly because I'm sad to see summer go.
Here is another fact about September that snuck up on me... it is Ovarian Cancer Awareness Month. This is something in the past two Septembers I have distanced myself from. Largely due to the fact that most cancer-related things make me hyperventilate. I'm not super fond of calling myself a *survivor*. It is an odd identity. Ovarian Cancer doesn't generate the cute bumper stickers (Save the Tatas and Fight Like a Girl come to my mind.) Save the Whoo-Haas doesn't have the same ring, and teal isn't nearly as flattering for everyone as pink.
However, I did think it fitting that September will be the month that my port will be removed. National Ovarian Cancer Awareness month...
My port is a little bumpy triangular thing that sticks out just to the right of my left armpit. It was surgically implanted in February of 2010. It will be surgically removed September 2013. It doesn't hurt (although Turner rammed it with his head just last week and I have to say, it knocked the wind out of me) and unless you were looking, you may not even notice it. But I know it is there. It is the place where they took blood, infused poison and hooked up I.V's for several years. Now I'll have to *get stuck* like a normal person. I am thankful to have had a port during the worst of the worst, but I will not shed a tear as it is removed!
As September arrives, I'm not sure what my part as a *survivor* would be. To re-tell my story of how I came upon my diagnosis? Maybe. And perhaps over the next few weeks I will. I am not convinced that will help anyone else. I don't love talking about my chemo, my diagnosis, my baldness, my weakness. But I do LOVE to remember God's healing power, the generosity of others, the way my neighbors surrounded me with love and care. I MUST remember how I needed to cling to God with every fiber of my being, how good my friends were to me, how amazing my husband's sacrifices were for me. I am humbled and grateful for the amazing care of my oncologist, Dr. Tom Reid and the nurses that were gentle and caring. It is a time of my life I would prefer to forget, but a time in my life that MUST be reflected on. It changed my life... forever.
In a lot of really hard ways, but in so many ways that could have only happened through cancer.
Here is another fact about September that snuck up on me... it is Ovarian Cancer Awareness Month. This is something in the past two Septembers I have distanced myself from. Largely due to the fact that most cancer-related things make me hyperventilate. I'm not super fond of calling myself a *survivor*. It is an odd identity. Ovarian Cancer doesn't generate the cute bumper stickers (Save the Tatas and Fight Like a Girl come to my mind.) Save the Whoo-Haas doesn't have the same ring, and teal isn't nearly as flattering for everyone as pink.
However, I did think it fitting that September will be the month that my port will be removed. National Ovarian Cancer Awareness month...My port is a little bumpy triangular thing that sticks out just to the right of my left armpit. It was surgically implanted in February of 2010. It will be surgically removed September 2013. It doesn't hurt (although Turner rammed it with his head just last week and I have to say, it knocked the wind out of me) and unless you were looking, you may not even notice it. But I know it is there. It is the place where they took blood, infused poison and hooked up I.V's for several years. Now I'll have to *get stuck* like a normal person. I am thankful to have had a port during the worst of the worst, but I will not shed a tear as it is removed!
In a lot of really hard ways, but in so many ways that could have only happened through cancer.
Thank you, Lord, for allowing me today. I am grateful for another September. I hope I really am living out "Taste and see that the Lord is good."
Because He is.
Friday, August 30, 2013
The re-invention of me
I started this blog just about 5 years ago. Weird. We had just started the adoption process for Quinn, Turner was a baby, Olivia wasn't in school yet. My parents' health wasn't great but both were stable. I worked on campus at the University of Dayton in a most part-time yet fulfilling way.
A few short years, LIFE happened. The storm came out of nowhere. It engulfed my life. It nearly overwhelmed me. One blow after another after another. Relentless. Consuming. It chewed me up and spit me out.
Life changes; sometime in an instant, sometimes gradually, sometimes both at the same time.
Today, Quinn has been home for 4 years, all three of my kids are in school for 8 hours a day. My parents (whom inspired me to start the blog) are gone. I volunteer at the kids' school 8 hours a week and am on the PTA officer team. I am on the verge of finding my place within ministering outside of my home once again with our employing organization, Athletes in Action.
My kids on the soccer team, involved in gymnastics, about to start theatre class and stalling to do their home work.
I feel as though I am entering a new stage of life. A stage where my kids begin to have their own lives. Their own identities.
My identity seems to be re-shaping once again, as well. Have I mentioned that I don't care too much for change? However, strangely enough, I do believe I am embracing the new and different.
I am enjoying where life is leading these days. I am trying to choose carefully where I am headed. What I say "yes" to, what I say "no" to. So far these days, my "yeses" are life giving.
I am in a season where I am trying to focus on all that I have to be grateful for. It is SO MUCH. Aside from the obvious: a great family, a home to live in, a head of hair, clean water to drink, another day to live etc. I have been overwhelmed lately with the EXTRAS that seem to be overflowing.
My port comes out on Sept. 20th (FYI I have continued to live with my chest port that was used to infuse my chemo drugs. I guess in some ways I've been viewing it as a *lucky rabbits foot*) It is time to trust God in a tangible way. A nurse called this a *celebratory* surgery. She indicated that this is a surgery they don't get to do all that often. I am grateful.
I am grateful for how the Lord is exciting my heart about life; about making an impact where He has me. At my kids' school, in our organization, in the lives of friends and neighbors. It is time to get my eyes off myself and begin to serve again. Not just serve with my time but with my talents and my heart. Gratitude brings joy which enables me to ENJOY my life. I am grateful.
I have much be thankful for. It's crazy (and probably good) how we have no idea what the future holds. If I would have known all that would go on 5 years ago when I started up this blog, I may have run away from my life.
But God is good.
He has carried me. He IS carrying me.
I am grateful.
A few short years, LIFE happened. The storm came out of nowhere. It engulfed my life. It nearly overwhelmed me. One blow after another after another. Relentless. Consuming. It chewed me up and spit me out.
Life changes; sometime in an instant, sometimes gradually, sometimes both at the same time.
Today, Quinn has been home for 4 years, all three of my kids are in school for 8 hours a day. My parents (whom inspired me to start the blog) are gone. I volunteer at the kids' school 8 hours a week and am on the PTA officer team. I am on the verge of finding my place within ministering outside of my home once again with our employing organization, Athletes in Action.
My kids on the soccer team, involved in gymnastics, about to start theatre class and stalling to do their home work.
I feel as though I am entering a new stage of life. A stage where my kids begin to have their own lives. Their own identities.
My identity seems to be re-shaping once again, as well. Have I mentioned that I don't care too much for change? However, strangely enough, I do believe I am embracing the new and different.
I am enjoying where life is leading these days. I am trying to choose carefully where I am headed. What I say "yes" to, what I say "no" to. So far these days, my "yeses" are life giving.
I am in a season where I am trying to focus on all that I have to be grateful for. It is SO MUCH. Aside from the obvious: a great family, a home to live in, a head of hair, clean water to drink, another day to live etc. I have been overwhelmed lately with the EXTRAS that seem to be overflowing.
My port comes out on Sept. 20th (FYI I have continued to live with my chest port that was used to infuse my chemo drugs. I guess in some ways I've been viewing it as a *lucky rabbits foot*) It is time to trust God in a tangible way. A nurse called this a *celebratory* surgery. She indicated that this is a surgery they don't get to do all that often. I am grateful.
I am grateful for how the Lord is exciting my heart about life; about making an impact where He has me. At my kids' school, in our organization, in the lives of friends and neighbors. It is time to get my eyes off myself and begin to serve again. Not just serve with my time but with my talents and my heart. Gratitude brings joy which enables me to ENJOY my life. I am grateful.
I have much be thankful for. It's crazy (and probably good) how we have no idea what the future holds. If I would have known all that would go on 5 years ago when I started up this blog, I may have run away from my life.
But God is good.
He has carried me. He IS carrying me.
I am grateful.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
The night I became a soccer mom
Last night Steve was working and Olivia had her second soccer game of the season. This is her first soccer season where I feel like she is actually playing soccer. As in they are playing on a full size field, have refs, full length quarters, follow actual rules and keep score. (Up until now it's basically been semi-organized chaos that sometimes involves kicking a ball, but usually not.)
We've had practices for a few weeks now. I'll be honest, the practices did not leave me with a lot of hope for my daughter's future in soccer. Too many bugs. Too hot. Too much running. Headache. Cramp in the side. Coach yelling. Liking to be goalie because there's not much running. Stuff like that.
Until last night. It happened. My daughter became a machine. She scored the first goal of the game. And it wasn't on accident. It was because she dribbled it down the field. She was aggressive and unafraid. By the end of the game she was a sweat ball. Her face was beet red because she ran her guts out. She wasn't afraid to go after the biggest most aggressive kid on the other team. She saw openings and played them. She talked with her teammates about strategy. I was like, "What the???" I know everyone thinks their kid is amazing. Mine actually was! And she looked like a dang college student out there. I couldn't believe my eyes.
Something snapped in me too. I was hooting and hollering and yelling things like, "Go, Red!" And "Alright, Juan, turn it around now." Even, "Take it to the goal, Esteban." Seriously, before last night I didn't even know you were suppose to "take it to the goal."
I actually said out loud- to nobody- "This is so much FUN." All the while, my two boys were off playing with sticks in a sketchy wooded area near a running river and I didn't even worry about it. I was focused on the game. I used to judge parents who just focused on their kids' sporting events while the little ones hot wired cars in the parking lot and ran wild through the woods with sharp sticks. (For real, I need to keep a list of the *I'll nevers* that I've broken in the past 7+ years.) Now all I can say is, "Turn it around, Juan!"
I was super sad that Steve was working and missed his daughter's first goal. But something tells me there will be a *few more* sporting events in our future.
We've had practices for a few weeks now. I'll be honest, the practices did not leave me with a lot of hope for my daughter's future in soccer. Too many bugs. Too hot. Too much running. Headache. Cramp in the side. Coach yelling. Liking to be goalie because there's not much running. Stuff like that.
Until last night. It happened. My daughter became a machine. She scored the first goal of the game. And it wasn't on accident. It was because she dribbled it down the field. She was aggressive and unafraid. By the end of the game she was a sweat ball. Her face was beet red because she ran her guts out. She wasn't afraid to go after the biggest most aggressive kid on the other team. She saw openings and played them. She talked with her teammates about strategy. I was like, "What the???" I know everyone thinks their kid is amazing. Mine actually was! And she looked like a dang college student out there. I couldn't believe my eyes.
Something snapped in me too. I was hooting and hollering and yelling things like, "Go, Red!" And "Alright, Juan, turn it around now." Even, "Take it to the goal, Esteban." Seriously, before last night I didn't even know you were suppose to "take it to the goal."
I actually said out loud- to nobody- "This is so much FUN." All the while, my two boys were off playing with sticks in a sketchy wooded area near a running river and I didn't even worry about it. I was focused on the game. I used to judge parents who just focused on their kids' sporting events while the little ones hot wired cars in the parking lot and ran wild through the woods with sharp sticks. (For real, I need to keep a list of the *I'll nevers* that I've broken in the past 7+ years.) Now all I can say is, "Turn it around, Juan!"
I was super sad that Steve was working and missed his daughter's first goal. But something tells me there will be a *few more* sporting events in our future.
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Unusual co-operation
We had our first day back to school last Thursday.
It was a good day. Although it was August 15th (which in the *olden days* was still summer vacation) my internal body clock said it was time to go back. And so did the weather. The dog days forgot to come this year. And I'm sad about that. I really love those dogs. I know, I'm weird.
It was so chilly, my kids wore jackets. Which was probably good, since I wasn't ready to wage the war of, "But you HAVE to wear this on your first day of Kindergarten, boys." So I didn't. And they went off to their first full day of school looking like ragamuffins.
But they did agree to hold a sign.
And in the age of blogs and Pinterest, I'm pretty sure holding a sign declaring it is your first/last day of any significant milestone in life is a requirement. Check.
She agreed to hold the sign too.
Which is a good thing, because uh, oh! Look what I'm in for:
I'm having a flash to a bit of teenage sas! Are these shots the cutest?! I love the beautiful, confident smile of my second grader. I want to hold tight of this sweet thing as long as I can. - As long as it's after 3:35 M-F and most hours on the weekend.
I have to say, I was able to get more accomplished Thursday and Friday while they were in school than I have since May 31. We had a magical summer and I can't think of any way I would have rather spent our summer months. But the magic was beginning to sour (knives, people! They were armed and dangerous just the other day.)
You may agree, by the end of summer this is how we all feel:
And we will do it all over again tomorrow morning.
It was a good day. Although it was August 15th (which in the *olden days* was still summer vacation) my internal body clock said it was time to go back. And so did the weather. The dog days forgot to come this year. And I'm sad about that. I really love those dogs. I know, I'm weird.
It was so chilly, my kids wore jackets. Which was probably good, since I wasn't ready to wage the war of, "But you HAVE to wear this on your first day of Kindergarten, boys." So I didn't. And they went off to their first full day of school looking like ragamuffins.
But they did agree to hold a sign.
And in the age of blogs and Pinterest, I'm pretty sure holding a sign declaring it is your first/last day of any significant milestone in life is a requirement. Check.
Which is a good thing, because uh, oh! Look what I'm in for:
I have to say, I was able to get more accomplished Thursday and Friday while they were in school than I have since May 31. We had a magical summer and I can't think of any way I would have rather spent our summer months. But the magic was beginning to sour (knives, people! They were armed and dangerous just the other day.)
You may agree, by the end of summer this is how we all feel:
And we will do it all over again tomorrow morning.
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